


What You're Worth to Me

by Aimily



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bodyswap, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Catholic Steve Rogers, Comic Book Science, Handwaving, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, references to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-03-06 12:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13411608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aimily/pseuds/Aimily
Summary: Bucky has been hiding from Steve how much pain his arm causes him. But when Strange's magic and Doom's tech cause Steve and Bucky to swap bodies in an interaction nobody was expecting, the secret is out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aireagoir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aireagoir/gifts).



> First of all, you should know I'm handwaving the premise of this fic - as well as the science - so hard I'm probably going to give myself carpal tunnel syndrome.
> 
> My headcanons about the integration of Bucky's arm into his body are borrowed from [owlet](/users/owlet/pseuds/owlet)'s wonderful [Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail](/series/195689) series.
> 
> I've set this at a conveniently unspecified time after Winter Soldier, when Bucky is living in Avengers Tower with Steve and recovering from his trauma. AoU and CACW have not happened.
> 
> This is for [aireagoir](/users/aireagoir/pseuds/aireagoir) who, like Bucky, doesn't deserve any of this shit.
> 
> ***
> 
> This is my first long-form fic. I think it will be three chapters. I know what's going to happen in the next two chapters, but I'm hesitating to write them because of the sad, painful things I'm going to have to put our boys through. I am posting the first chapter to force myself to write the next ones. Because now that it's out there, I don't have any choice, right??!
> 
> Concrit is welcome.

It shouldn’t have been possible. Doctor Strange ( _and isn’t that a fucking accurate name_ ) says he has no idea how his powers could have caused it; his best guess is that it was some unforeseeable interaction between his magic and whatever alien tech Doom was using.

 

Anyway. The feeling of being in a body that doesn’t feel like his own has gotten gradually less intense since the serum, but his own height, his own strength, and his body’s unaccustomed endurance still catch Steve off guard occasionally.

 

Being in Bucky’s body is a whole new level of foreign though. As is seeing Bucky’s thousand-yard stare on his own face from across the quinjet.

 

 

 

The first thing Steve noticed, before he even saw the metal arm, was the pain. He can feel each attachment point of the arm on Bucky’s skeleton, and the unnatural pull of the arm’s weight on the muscles of neck, back, and torso. His _ribs_ are sore, for chrissakes. _Breathing_ hurts. Does Bucky hurt like this all the time, he wonders, or is some of this just post-battle soreness? Judging from Strange’s expression, he’ll have plenty of time to find out.

 

Strange has returned to his—office? home? mystical... sanctuary?—to search for a counterspell, or at least a cause. Thor summoned the Bifrost immediately after the battle in order to consult with their healers.

 

“You okay, Buck?” Steve tries to keep his voice even, tries to shift position without wincing. Steve is no stranger to pain himself, between all of his health problems before the serum and having a post-serum metabolism so fast that even the strongest anesthetic is no better than a placebo, but this pain is different. It’s a constant, grinding, pulling, aching presence that asserts itself anytime he moves or breathes.

 

The silence stretches, like taffy, like a body on a rack.

 

Bucky’s eyes don’t leave whatever spot of wall they’re fixed on. “Fucker better fix this.”

 

 

 

 

Once they’re back at the tower, Bucky is twitching with post-battle adrenaline. “Take a bath. It helps,” he says, not quite meeting Steve’s eyes. “I’m going to the gym.”

 

Usually it’s Steve going to the gym after a mission in order to work off the rest of an adrenaline spike. _Interesting_ , thinks a detached corner of Steve’s mind. Apparently that’s a trait of his physiology rather than his personality.

 

Back in their apartment, Steve takes Bucky’s advice, filling their tub with the hottest water he can stand. Steve sinks down into the water, letting the warmth roll through him. The bath does help with the worst of the pain. Getting out of the tub still hurts, though. With nobody else to see, he allows himself a wince and a sharp intake of breath through clenched teeth.

 

Drying off, getting dressed, going to the kitchen to make a sandwich—even if the pain is less, it’s still there in every movement. Not for the first time, Steve wonders at Bucky’s ability to move through the world with such apparent ease and grace. How much must it hurt him to spar, to train— _oh, God_ —to make love? Steve puts the sandwich back on the plate, appetite suddenly gone. _Bucky, what have I been doing to you?_

 

Once Bucky had trusted Tony enough to let him run a full-body scan, Tony had been furious at what he’d found. The plates and rods bracing Bucky’s arm on his skeleton were heavy and created microtears in his muscles every time he moved. _What kind of fucking assholes don’t even shave down the screw heads!_ Tony had offered to do an overhaul of the arm structure, smooth out the connections and replace the metal with lighter alloys, but Bucky had flatly refused any medical or surgical improvements. Steve hasn’t ever pushed the issue, but the visceral experience of the pain Bucky lives with all the goddamn time has him rethinking his feelings on the subject.

 

 

Steve finds Tony in his lab, analyzing schematics of the team’s equipment in the aftermath of the mission, looking for ways to fix any weaknesses exposed by the battle.

 

Tony looks up as Steve walked in. “Hey there, Buck Rogers!” He pauses. “Wait. Buck or Rogers?”

 

Steve huffs a laugh. “Rogers, still.” He takes the cup of coffee DUM-E hands him and pats him on what is probably his head. “Thanks, buddy.”

 

Tony gestures to the sofa in the lab. “Have a seat, Caps. What’s up?”

 

Steve lowers himself onto the sofa, trying to emulate Bucky’s practiced ease. “Do you still have those scans you did of Bucky’s arm?”

 

“Sure I do. What’s wrong, one of the servos catching again?”

 

Steve shakes his head. “No, nothing like that. I just remember you told Bucky that there were things you and Cho could do to lighten the arm and reduce his pain levels. I know Bucky didn’t want to have any surgeries, but I thought that since we’ve had our bodies swapped—”

 

Tony turns around to glare at Steve. “What the actual fucking FUCK, Rogers?”

 

Steve is startled by the other man’s tone. “Tony, I—”

 

“No, I don’t even want to hear it. Don’t you think Barnes has had his body modified without his consent enough for one lifetime? Do you know what it feels like to come back to yourself and realize that someone has been fucking around inside you uninvited? I don’t know what pisses me off more, the thought that you’d want to do that to him, or the thought that you think I’d help you.”

 

“I would never, Tony! I would never actually go through with this without talking to Bucky first! I was just—shit!” Steve curses as the mug in the metal hand bursts and coffee and ceramic shards spill all over his lap and the floor. DUM-E hurries over with a rag, a broom, and a dustpan, which Steve takes. After a few slow, deep breaths, Steve begins to clean up the mess. “I just. Wanted to talk about it. That’s all. Find out if it’s even possible before I bring it up with Bucky. But. _Tony._ If the person you loved more than anything in the world were in pain all day, every day, if you had the chance to make it better, to hurt for a little while to save them from hurting all the time,” Steve pauses, swallowing hard, “wouldn’t you?”

 

“Yeah.” Steve thinks hear can hear Tony’s voice catch a little. “Yeah, I would.”

 

Abruptly, Tony returns from wherever he’d gone for a moment there. “Fine. Yeah. Okay, Cap, I’ll call Cho, see what we can figure out. You go talk to your boy. But listen—if Buckaroo nopes out of this, we’re done. No way is anything happening without his say-so.”

 

Steve nods. “You got it. Thanks, Tony.”

 

“Sure. Pizza and stupid movie night tonight, right?”

 

“Depends. I’ll let you know.” Steve finishes cleaning up his mess, gives DUM-E a high-five, and heads back up to the floor he shares with Bucky.

 

 

Back in their apartment, Bucky is flopped in a sunny spot on the floor, reading a book. The sight is at once familiar and strange. Familiar because of how Bucky and his book would chase the sun around the room on winter days when it was too cold to go out, and strange because Steve realizes with a shock that he hasn’t seen Bucky do that a single time since they found each other again in this century. Steve’s pretty sure he knows why—in this body, scooting around on the floor sounds about as much fun as sitting down on broken glass.

 

Steve sits down on an armchair. “Hey, Buck. Whacha readin’?”

 

Bucky silently holds up a Russian science-fiction book, and then goes back to his reading.

 

“Stupid movie night with the team tonight, or would that be too weird?”

 

“Huh? Nah, we can do that.”

 

Rather than bother Bucky while he’s trying to read, Steve grabs his StarkPad and pulls up Wikipedia. He likes to click the “Random Page” link until he finds something interesting, and then follow other links he finds in the articles. Stark calls it his “rabbit hole.” He and Bucky spend the next hour or so in companionable silence.

 

Steve glances up from the Wikipedia entry on Rogelio Salmona to see Bucky watching him. “What’s up, Buck?”

 

“You’ve spent the whole time since you came back _not saying_ something. You tell me what’s up.”

 

“I— Bucky, I had no idea how much this arm _hurts_ you.”

 

“You shouldn’t have to deal with that. I hope Strange or Thor figures out something soon. Get you out of that damn thing.”

 

 _That damn thing._ Bucky’s body, which he holds, cherishes, _loves_.

 

“You don’t deserve it either.”

 

Bucky snorts.

 

“I’m serious, Buck.” Steve sighs. They’ve had this conversation so many times. This time isn’t going to be any different. Screw it. Whether it’s a HYDRA compound or a difficult conversation, Steve Rogers’ default method of interacting with the world is to charge in at full speed. “Remember those ideas Stark had for making the attachment points on your arm less painful? I talked to him and—”

 

The floor-to-ceiling windows in Avengers Tower are designed to withstand the full impact of the Iron Man suits, so a hardcover copy of _Monday Begins on Saturday_ , even flung at full force by an angry supersoldier, doesn't even leave a scratch.

 

“I fucking told you, Steve, _no more surgeries_. How many goddamn times do I have to say it? No more people cutting around on me, I don’t care who or why.”

 

“That’s it, though. What if you weren’t the one getting cut on at all?”

 

So that’s what Bucky’s furious glare looks like on Steve’s face. “This is some next-level martyrdom shit, even for you, Rogers. The answer is still _no._ Not you, not me, not anyone.” Bucky starts toward the elevator. “C’mon. Stupid movie night, right? You’re bringing the stupid, so they can’t have it without you.”

 

Steve follows Bucky to the elevator. _That could’ve gone better_.

 

They’re the last two to arrive on the common floor. (“Good timing, Freaky Friday! The pizzas just got here.”)

 

The movie, _Jupiter Ascending,_ is just as stupid as advertised, and the evening passes in groans, heckling, and laughter (“Look, she’s climbing a ladder! It’s about damn time!” “Whaddaya mean?” “JUPITER is finally ASCENDING!” “Goddammit, Barton.”)  It feels good to relax with his team, even if he does have to be careful how he moves.

 

In the elevator back to their floor, Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You don’t deserve to feel like this all the time, Buck.”

 

“Says you.”

                                     

Steve sighs. Same damn conversation. Time for a strategic retreat. A temporary one.

 

Bedtime is awkward. Steve tries to change into sleep clothes without really looking at Bucky’s body. How he’s supposed to give Bucky his privacy while occupying his body is beyond him, but Steve tries his best. Bucky tries to make a few jokes about “not wanting to make out with myself,” but they mostly fall flat. Steve doesn’t sleep much—it’s hard to find a comfortable sleeping position with the arm—so he’s awake when Bucky wakes up from a nightmare. Bucky’s nightmares are still and silent; if it weren’t for the change in breathing, Steve would never know he had them.

 

“Hey. Hey, Buck. It’s okay, you’re safe, I’ve got you, you’re safe, you’re here with me in Avengers Tower.” Steve whispers to Bucky in a soothing voice without touching him yet. He’s learned the hard way that putting his hands on Bucky before he’s aware of where he is and who he’s with is a bad idea.

 

“Steve?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me. C’mere, ya mook.” Steve folds his arms around Bucky, gently at first, and then more fiercely, as he whispers comforting nonsense in the hopes of bringing Bucky back to the present. Steve stays like that long enough for Bucky to fall back to sleep, and is eventually able to fall asleep himself.

 

Steve wakes up with his arms still around Bucky. _Wow. My body really is a space heater._ Bucky wakes with a sleepy smile when Steve stirs. “You really are a lucky son of a bitch, Buck, you know that? Getting to wake up to that face every morning?” Steve gives Bucky a gentle kiss, and Bucky laughs. The happy morning fog lasts until Steve tries to move. Ow.

 

“Yeah, it’s always worst waking up,” says Bucky.

 

Steve doesn’t bother to hide a cringe. “You ain’t kiddin’.”

 

Okay, that’s enough retreating for now. Regroup, change angle, attack.

 

“What if this is permanent?”

 

“Huh? No. _No_ , it ain’t gonna be permanent.”

 

“But what if it is, Buck? Or what if it takes Strange and Thor months to figure this shit out? You saw the look on Strange’s face. He wasn’t gonna admit it, but he had no damn clue where to start.”

 

“What’re you getting at, Steve?”

 

“What if I want to try the surgery for me? You’ve figured out how to live with this arm tearing at your muscles every day, but maybe I’m not as strong as you are; maybe I’m asking you to let me have the surgery while I’m in your body because I’m a selfish asshole.”

 

Bucky scoffs. “And maybe you should leave the emotional manipulation to Natasha, punk, because you’re lousy at it.”

 

“Bucky. Please. I love you. And I can’t stand the thought of you hurting all the time once you’re back in your own body and knowing that I could have done something to prevent it. You don’t want any more surgeries, that’s fine, I understand that. I don’t blame you at all, after everything HYDRA— No, shut up, I ain’t done yet. Please let me do this for you.”

 

“You have no damn idea what you’re asking, Steve.”

 

“And you have no damn idea what you’re worth to me. Please.”

 

Bucky covers his face with his hands, rubbing his forehead as though fighting off a headache. “Tell Stark he needs to reinforce the operating table. And add restraints. We can deactivate the metal arm, but you’re not going to be able to hold still, not with what they’ll have to do. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m agreeing to put you through this.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude the day before the first procedure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it's been a lot longer than I intended. Oops. I'm posting this brief interlude because it felt like a logical stopping point. I've also upped the total chapter count because I didn't initially plan this bit to be a standalone chapter.

It’s been three days, and any hope of this being a temporary phenomenon that will simply resolve on its own is more or less gone. Bucky is sitting in an armchair in Dr. Rose’s office and fiddling with the ties on his hoodie. Explaining the body swap at the beginning of the appointment felt almost routine; mental health professionals associated with the Avengers either learn to take things in stride or they move on to other jobs. Either way, they sign a great many non-disclosure agreements.

 

“So Stark has the new parts all ready, plus he’s modified the operating table in the medical suite. Cho’s getting in later today and they’re gonna work through the final plans this afternoon. It’s going to be two procedures, I know that much; one for the front, one for the back. So tomorrow, they’re gonna... Steve’s gonna...” Bucky puts his head in his hands. Still so strange, for both hands to be still flesh. The hands of an artist rather than those of a murderer.

 

“What is your plan for tomorrow?”

 

“Whaddaya mean, Doc?”

 

“Will you be with Steve in the OR? Will you meet him in recovery?”

 

“I... I want to be there with him. If they’ll let me. Steve shouldn’t have to do this alone. Fuck, he shouldn’t have to do this at all.” _If I wasn’t such a chickenshit,_ Bucky adds silently. He knows from experience that Dr. Rose won’t put up with any name calling (“ _negative self-talk,” that’s what she calls it_ ), no matter how accurate or deserved.

 

“How do you feel about being there when they do the procedure? You’ll be watching it happen to _your_ body, and I’m worried about the effect that will have on you.”

 

Bucky gives her a Look. _Steve_ is the one who is going to be in pain, not him. Who gives a goddamn festering shit how it affects him, when he’s just going to be sitting there and watching like an asshole?

 

“I’ll be fine. I’m not worried.”

 

Dr. Rose smiles a little. “I think it will mean a lot to Steve to have you there.”

 

“I don’t see how I’m going to do any damn good.”

 

“Don’t underestimate yourself, James. Being there is the most important thing. Hold his hand. Let him hear your voice. Think of what you wish someone had said or done for you.”

 

Bucky huffs a small laugh. “I dunno, Doc. I don’t think busting up Stark’s lab and running off with Steve is gonna be helpful here.”

 

Dr. Rose smiles gently, for once not saying anything about Bucky’s habit of using humor to deflect. Bucky assumes she figures there’s plenty going on this session without her calling him on it.

 

“We need to stop for today, James, but I want you to consider one more thing. Tomorrow you’re going to be holding Steve’s hand and reassuring him because you know he doesn’t deserve to suffer like this. Maybe you can work on turning that love and compassion on yourself as well.”

 

There’s nothing to say to that, so Bucky says nothing.

 

 

After his session, Bucky returns to their apartment. Steve is in the kitchen making sandwiches. He turns around when Bucky enters, a sympathetic look on his face.

 

“Tough session, Buck?”

 

Bucky nods. Words are hard right now.

 

He and Steve sit in silence through lunch, Steve respecting Bucky’s silence and Bucky wondering what in the world you even say to someone about to go through hell for you.

 

As they’re putting the dishes in the sink, Bucky looks up. “Shit.”

 

“What’s up, Buck?”

 

“Tell Cho. We need to make sure you have a mouth guard tomorrow.”

 

Bucky goes to his room. Tomorrow he will rally, be there for Steve, be the strength Steve is going to need. For now, though, Bucky just wants to sit in silence with his goddamn cowardly self.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first procedure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long without an update. Real life, end of the school year, and getting my heart torn out by Infinity War all took their toll. Thank you so much for your comments and kudos -- they mean so much!! <3
> 
> Let me reiterate my almost complete lack of medical knowledge; I fully admit to the ridiculous amount of handwaving I'm doing here.

In the elevator down to the medical suite, Bucky practices his deep breathing. He owes it to Steve to keep his shit together, today of all days.

 

The static in his head amplifies when he sees the operating table. Reinforced restraints for the arms and legs, reinforced straps to hold the body in place. Breathe in, breathe out. Bucky’s hands are not shaking. He won’t allow it. Breathe in, breathe out. Swallow hard, stop the shaking. Stop it. Now. Breathe in, breathe out.

 

Steve takes his hand gently. “It’s okay, Buck. We’ve got this.”

 

Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand. Breathe in, breathe out. Smiles weakly. “I’m good, Stevie. Don’t worry about me.” If Steve is nervous, he’s hiding it far better than Bucky is. Breathe in, breathe out.

 

Dr. Cho is there with Tony and a couple of nurses. They’re all scrubbed up and ready to go. “Sergeant Barnes,” says one, “there’s a set of surgical scrubs and a cap in the changing room over there. Please go change into them while I help Captain Rogers prepare for the procedure. You can hang up your clothes on the hooks provided.”

 

Breathe in, breathe out. Bucky nods and heads where the nurse just pointed him. Bucky is doing his best to catalog all of the ways the medical suite in Avengers Tower is different from a HYDRA facility. Sanitation protocols and surgical scrubs certainly fall under that category. He and Steve are being treated like human beings. There’s another one. Not to mention the curtain ready to be drawn across the operating table at about the level of Steve’s neck. It wasn’t even that HYDRA didn’t care whether or not he saw what they were doing to him – sometimes, at least, Bucky is pretty sure the doctors enjoyed his horror at seeing himself cut apart.

 

 _Dammit, Barnes, keep it together._ In the privacy of the changing room, Bucky takes a moment to breathe deeply, to hug himself, to let the terror show on his face. He puts on the pants and the top, pulls the sterile socks onto his feet, and places the expression of calm back onto his face like donning a mask.

 

As he goes over to the sink to scrub up, he sees Steve sitting on the table. They’ve already deactivated the arm, and he’s getting ready to lay down on his stomach. Tony is helping to support the arm as Steve lies down, for once keeping his quips and commentary to himself. _Thank God._

 

This will be the first, and most extensive, procedure. Since most of the hardware attaching the arm to his skeleton is accessible from the back, this is where Dr. Cho and Tony want to start. Steve is lying on the table, waiting, passive, while the nurses fasten the restraints. Breathe in, breathe out. Not HYDRA. Another difference: The nurses are asking Steve if he’s comfortable, whether the restraints are too tight. This isn’t HYDRA; it’s not. Breathe in, breathe out.

 

A nurse motions Bucky over to a chair near Steve’s head. From the chair, Bucky should be able to reach far enough to hold Steve’s hand during the surgery, and he’ll be able to stroke his hair, touch his face. Because this isn’t HYDRA, and comfort is a thing that’s allowed. Breathe in, breathe out.

 

Bucky sits down. “Hey.”

 

“Hey yourself.”

 

Bucky reaches over to take Steve’s hand. He strokes it gently. “Squeeze as hard as you want, it’s okay.”

 

Steve shakes his head. “Not during the surgery. I don’t wanna break your hand.” When Bucky starts to protest, Steve continues, “Ma was a nurse, remember? If I squeeze your hand, I might break it. Give me the first two fingers instead and I’ll squeeze those.”

 

Bucky smiles lamely. “Well, if you did, at least we’re already in Medical.”

 

Steve smiles. It’s only a little bit strained.

 

Dr. Cho walks over to stand near Bucky. “We’re almost ready to start, Steve. As we discussed, Tony and I are going to try to work as fast as possible to minimize the amount of time the surgery takes. We will use topical analgesics throughout in order to minimize the pain you feel, at least. Are you ready?” Steve nods. “Before we give you the mouthguard, do you have any other questions for me?”

 

“I don’t think so, Doc.”

 

A nurse places the mouthguard in Steve’s mouth – gently, because this still isn’t HYDRA – and draws the curtain that will block his and Steve’s view of the surgery. Steve closes his eyes. On the other side of the curtain, his hand seeks out Bucky’s first two fingers.

 

Bucky can hear Tony and Cho getting ready on the other side of the curtain, can hear the rattling of instruments, and can hear the iodine swab moving over Steve’s skin. (Sanitation. Care. Not HYDRA. Breathe in, breathe out.)

 

Bucky has been thinking about Dr. Rose’s question, about what he can do for Steve to make this better. His plan is to talk, for as long as it takes. To hopefully be a thread Steve can hold onto, a thing for him to concentrate on other than the pain. Judging from the sounds from the other side of the curtain, it’s about time to begin.

 

“I still can’t get over you, Stevie. Even when you were just a little scrap of nothing, with a big mouth and a bigger attitude. God only knows how many alleys I scraped you out of over the years. Then you got bigger and stronger, started looking for even bigger fights. And goddamn if you didn’t win those too, just through sheer stupid cussedness.”

 

Dr. Cho must be making the first cut with the scalpel, because Steve’s hand tightens on his fingers, his face clenches, and his breath rushes in between his teeth. Bucky remembers not wanting to make a sound, too. He also remembers how that always ended.

 

Bucky doesn’t stop.

 

“I remember goin’ to the pool halls with you. God, Stevie, you were a genius with that pool cue. Always told ’em you were my scrappy little brat of a baby brother that Ma made me take along. They’d let us play, let us buy into the to the game just to humor us. Then you would start your magic, banking that ball around the table like you were steerin’ it. I still remember those tiny hands of yours stretching around the pool cue, most beautiful sight in the world, those hands. Some nights you’d go up against the best players, and I would make bank just betting on you. Sometimes we’d even have enough left over after we paid the rent to go to the movies or go to Coney Island.”

 

With his free hand, Bucky starts touching Steve’s face, stroking his hair. “It’s okay, Stevie, it’s okay. We’re going to get through this. _You’re_ going to get through this.”

 

It’s getting worse; Bucky can tell. Breathe in, breathe out. Another story.

 

“Remember that time in France Dugan was supposed to steal the German commander’s codebook? And instead of making a clean getaway he comes tearing down the hill toward us on a goddamn bicycle with the codebook, a ham, some brandy, and a goddamn backpack full of potatoes? The jackass was yelling at the top of his lungs for us to get the truck started and get out of there before the Krauts could repair the ignition lines he cut and catch up with him. I swear, sometimes I think that big lug had even less sense and more stupid, stubborn bravery than you. How the hell he kept that hat of his on his head for that entire wild ride I’ll never know.”

 

Steve’s face is racked with pain, and his hand is shaking while he holds Bucky’s first two fingers in a death grip.

 

Bucky keeps talking, yammering about anything from his and Steve’s shared history that pops into his head. Steve’s Ma making soda bread in their tenement kitchen. Sleepovers and shared whispers in the night and sofa cushions on the floor. Christmas with Peggy and the Howling Commandos, hiding from the cold in an abandoned barn, carols and jokes and purloined brandy flavoring cups of so-called coffee.

 

Steve has started to shake, and he is making a keening sound, almost a pleading sound. Bucky wonders whether he’s bitten through the mouthguard yet. _Don’t stop now. Keep it up, don’t get distracted._

 

Muggy summer nights sleeping on the roof of the tenement building. The fireworks on Steve’s birthday. The day they pooled their extra money and tried pizza for the first time. ( _“God, Stevie, I think for about a week after that I would just stop and stare into space and remember how that damn pizza tasted.”_ ) Jones trying to teach Bucky French and Dernier laughing his ass off in the background.

 

Breathe in, breathe out. Keep talking, keep stroking his hair. Ignore how Steve’s moans are starting to sound more and more like screams.

 

Making a fort out of Bucky’s bedsheets and reading Bucky’s comic books inside it. Falling asleep during midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. Getting care packages from Bucky’s ma in the field, the address blurred from rain and the tin beat half to hell but the cookies still delicious and mostly fresh, packed in popcorn.

 

It sounds like they’re closing up the incisions.

 

“They’re almost done, Stevie. They’re almost done, I swear. It’s okay, I’m here. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Dr. Cho steps around the curtain. “We’re done with the procedure, and we’ve applied all the topical analgesic we can. The best thing I can offer you for pain control until your accelerated healing takes effect is ice packs. That will help control inflammation and dull the pain as you recover.”

 

Steve shakes his head frantically. He’s still gritting his teeth too hard to be able to speak, but it’s obvious that the sounds he’s making are an emphatic _no_.

 

Bucky touches Cho’s shoulder. “Don’t, Doc. Neither of us likes the cold that much. It wouldn’t be a comfort.”

 

Belated realization dawns on Cho’s face. “Of course. I’m sorry. Captain Rogers, we’re going to undo the restraints, but please stay on the table long enough for the tissues to at least begin to knit together. I’ll come back to check on you in about an hour.”

 

“Hey, pal. You want some help removing that mouthguard?”

 

Steve nods, opens his mouth. He lets go of Bucky’s first two fingers, and resumes holding his hand. Gently strokes the back of Bucky’s hand with his thumb.

 

“Thanks.” It’s barely a whisper.

 

 _I’m sorry, Steve,_ Bucky doesn’t say. _I’m so sorry for being such a chickenshit, for putting you through this._

 

Instead, Bucky says, “You’re okay, Stevie. Anything you need, I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

 

Bucky strokes Steve’s hair, waits for the skin to heal, wonders when the wounds will close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes:
> 
> \- Holding onto someone's first two fingers instead of their entire hand so as to avoid crushing bones is a thing we learned about in childbirth class. And I figure that if it was a concern for me holding my husband's hand, it would be an even bigger concern when supersoldiers are involved.
> 
> \- The pool hall thing is based on a headcanon of mine. Erskine said that because of the serum "good becomes great." So, in my headcanon, the reason Steve is able to do all that incredible banking with his shield, getting it to ricochet just right, return to his hand, etc. is because he was a first-rate pool player before the serum. I've been thinking about making that headcanon into its own work, but haven't really found a compelling direction to take it in, so I thought I'd at least put it here.
> 
> \- Trying pizza for the first time: The first pizzerias opened in Manhattan in the early 1900s, and there were definitely at least a few pizzerias in Brooklyn by the 1920s. I imagine that Steve and Bucky didn't have enough disposable income to eat out on the regular, and pizza probably would've barely crossed the Irish community's radar, so it would be a pretty rare thing. I based this on my dad's story about the first time he had pizza -- he grew up in a poor farming community in the 40s, and tried pizza on a class trip once as a teenager. Bucky's response is a very slightly edited version of Dad's.
> 
> Thanks again for reading. Love galore to all of you!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery, support, and the second procedure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was initially going to combine the second procedure and the falling action into a single chapter, but instead of writing the falling action I decided to get sick and wind up in the hospital with pneumonia. Oops. So as you've no doubt noticed the total chapter count has gone up yet again, and I continue to be one chapter away from finishing. I've learned my lesson about making promises, but I am desperately hoping to be able to post the final chapter before the end of the year. Thank you so much for sticking with me this far!

_Steve can’t move at all. His cell, this lab, these restraints, all made to hold a supersoldier, which means they knew he was coming. He grits his teeth and his entire body shakes as Zola’s scalpel cuts into him again. He can’t cry out. He can’t make a sound, or they’ll hurt Bucky instead. His fists clench and his body shakes; the pain is beyond even tears._

_“Odd.” Zola’s tone contains equal parts sadistic satisfaction and scientific detachment. “I would have expected more out of Erskine’s greatest success. Strange, that he should ultimately prove to be so... feeble.”_

_“Not odd at all, Herr Doktor,” Schmidt replies. “The serum was, after all, limited in its efficacy. Erskine’s failure was his choice of subject. The serum can only fix so much, and Erskine chose truly inferior stock for his first trial. They can cover him with their flag, hide him behind his shield, but he will never be anything but what he was at the beginning: weak.”_

_Bucky is struggling against his own restraints, calling his name from across the room, pleading with him, though Steve isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do._

_“Steve, Steve, please!”_

 

 

“Steve! _Please_ wake up, Steve.”

 

Steve awakens with a gasp. The lingering terror of the dream shudders through his body. Bucky is across the bed from him, a safe distance away. Seeing that Steve's awake, Bucky moves toward Steve's side of the bed. Bucky takes Steve in his arms, and Steve clings to him. “Bucky, Bucky, oh God, Bucky. They had us. They were going to hurt you if I didn’t– I couldn’t. Couldn’t let you be hurt anymore.”

 

“Ssh, Stevie, it’s okay. I’m here, we’re safe.” Bucky ran his fingers through Steve’s hair, comforting, grounding, loving. “How do you feel this morning?”

 

Steve shifts his body experimentally. “A little rough still. I should be ready for the next round in another day or so.”

 

Bucky stills. His eyes widen. “Already? Are you sure? Steve, they–”

 

Steve’s smile feels tight. “May as well get it over with.” _Because if I find one reason to put it off I’ll find a thousand more after that. Because I can’t stand the thought of being that helpless and terrified again, and if someone gives me the opportunity to bow out I’m scared to death I’ll take it._

 

“Captain Rogers?”

 

“Yes, JARVIS?”

 

“Sir has requested that I ask whether you and Sergeant Barnes are feeling amenable to having company. He and your teammates would like to have an impromptu team brunch. Sir has particularly requested I emphasize that he has ordered ‘a big pile of eggs Benedict with some of the best Hollandaise in the whole goddamn city’.”

 

Steve smiles, touched. “Sure, JARVIS. Bucky and I ought to be ready in 20 minutes or so.”

 

“I’ll start the coffee,” says Bucky.

 

About half an hour later, the team starts trickling in. Natasha brings blini with honey and sour cream for dipping, and Clint follows behind her with a box of doughnuts still warm from the bakery. Bruce has brought supplies for making omelets and quickly sets up in the kitchen and starts taking orders. A little later, Tony and Pepper show up with the promised Benedicts, while Sam stands alongside Bruce in the kitchen, frying up several packages of bacon.

 

The team stays well into the afternoon, laughing and joking and teasing each other while deliberately avoiding any discussion of magic, body swaps, or medical treatment. The easy sense of togetherness reminds Steve of being on leave with the Howling Commandos. Despite grief, despite loss, despite pain, Steve feels spectacularly grateful for the warm, familiar sense of home he’s found in a new and unfamiliar century.

 

Odin, it turns out, has begrudgingly agreed to allow Bucky and Steve access to Asgard’s healers. First, though, he presented Thor with a list of tasks he is required to perform before Heimdall will be allowed to open the Bifrost. Thor referred to this as “quests I must complete in return for this boon.” (Tony, on the other hand, rolled his eyes and called it “the labors of Thor-cules.”) It’s hard for Steve to get his head around the fact that an actual Norse god is performing mythical quests in an effort to help him and Bucky. Steve, who may well hate Being A Bother even more than he hates HYDRA, media adulation, and hero worship, is beyond uncomfortable with the entire idea, and only the fact that it’s for Bucky’s benefit as well keeps him from objecting.

 

 

 

The next day, the ride in the elevator and the walk from the elevator to the medical suite are overlaid with a sense of unreality. Steve knows what he’s agreed to, what he’s walking toward, and somehow he’s able to make his feet do it anyway. Traitorously, he wonders whether it might have been easier for Bucky since he was brainwashed. Whether it’s easier to walk toward terror and pain when you have no choice but to do so. Or was it worse, Bucky’s personality and free will locked away in a distant corner of his mind, screaming in horror and struggling ineffectually? Steve continues to force himself forward, forces himself to strip, forces himself to lie on the table. It’s almost a relief when they deactivate the arm and fasten the restraints, a relief to feel as though the choice to flee isn’t available to him anymore.

 

Bucky sits down next to his head, and one of the nurses draws the curtain across his neck.

 

This is supposed to be the less extensive procedure. Tony and the medical team did most of the repairs and adjustments last time while Steve was lying on his stomach. This time, Steve will be lying on his back ( _lying on his back feels so much more vulnerable; Bucky was lying on his back when Steve found him in Kreischberg_ ) and the medical team will work on everything they weren’t able to reach from the other side. Steve wonders how much longer it will take Thor to return from Asgard. Looking at the door to the medical suite, he thinks how nice it would be to see Thor walk in with a great big bottle of that Asgardian mead right... about... now.

 

Damn.

 

Bucky is sitting next to him. He kisses Steve on the forehead and strokes his hair. With his other arm he reaches through the curtain to where Steve’s flesh arm is held in place by the restraints. Bucky’s first two fingers move across his palm, and Steve gives them a gentle squeeze. “Thanks for being here, Buck.”

 

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

 

 _Liar_. The thought brings with it an affectionate smile. Steve knows all too well that the medical suite is one of Bucky’s least favorite places in Avengers Tower. The fact that he is here anyway, supporting Steve, pushing down his panic with sheer force of will, touches Steve in ways he’s not sure he could put into words. During the last procedure, Bucky’s voice, even when Steve wasn’t sure anymore what he was saying, had been like Ariadne’s thread in the Labyrinth. A connection to light and hope, a promise that this horrible present would not last forever.

 

Tony steps around the curtain scrubbed up, ready to go, and all business. “Everything is go on our end, Cap. We’re all set up to do this as quickly as possible. You ready?” Tony’s expression is a mixture of empathy, apology, and hesitance.

 

“Ready.” _The sooner they start, the sooner it’s over. The sooner they start, the sooner it’s over._

 

Tony nods and goes back around the curtain. Bucky gently places the mouth guard in Steve’s mouth.

 

The swabs of iodine and numbing agent are cold on his chest. Steve shivers and tries to control his breathing. By contrast, the pain of the scalpel is hot. Steve’s hand tightens around Bucky’s fingers.

 

Anytime Bucky remembers something about their life together before the fall, he brings it to Steve. If it’s a happy memory, he will offer it to Steve with all the joy of a child who has found a beautiful rock or seashell on the beach. Obviously Bucky has been saving up memories. Steve listens to his stories until his voice becomes background, the thread that he will follow out of this torment.

 

 _Offer it up._ That’s what the nuns always said. Any suffering, little or big, could be offered up, for an intention, or as atonement for sin. Steve always privately suspected that “offer it up” was Catholic code for “shut up and deal with it.” Still though. Sometimes prayer is all that's left. _Please, Blessed Mother, hope of sinners, please let this work. Please let Bucky get his body back and let all the pain be left here on this table._

 

Eventually all he can manage is _please, please, please, please, please._ He is grasping Bucky’s fingers with all of his strength, he can feel his flesh arm shake, and he’s pretty sure he is about to bite through the mouthguard. He’s pretty sure he loses some time, too, because the next thing he is aware of is Tony telling him they’re about to close the incisions.

 

As he lies there recovering, waiting for the wounds to have closed enough that he can be moved, Bucky is still sitting next to him, still talking and gently stroking his hair. Steve keeps his eyes closed and follows the thread of his voice until he’s able to make out individual words again.

 

“Hey, Stevie. Hey there,” Bucky says once Steve has opened his eyes. “I – I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this, pal. I was too big of a fucking chickenshit to agree to have this fixed, and you stepped up and took it off me the first chance you got. D’you remember that story we read back in school? Damon and what’s-his-name? The one where the guy gets sentenced to death and his friend takes his place in prison so he can go say goodbye to his family, and the king or tyrant or whoever says that if his friend never comes back he’ll be executed in his friend’s place? Stevie, that’s you.” Steve can see tears in Bucky’s eyes. “That’s you.”

 

Steve shakes his head. “No, Buck. That’s _us_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story Bucky is thinking of is [Damon and Pythias](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Damon_and_Pythias)


End file.
